It was Mrs. Doria’s object to produce an impression, and avoid an argument. She therefore left him as soon as she had, as she supposed, made her mark on the young man. Richard was very silent during the speech, and save for an exclamation or so, had listened attentively. He pondered on what his aunt said. He loved Lady Blandish, and yet he did not wish to see her Lady Feverel. Mrs. Doria laid painful stress on the scandal, and though he did not give his mind to this, he thought of it. He thought of his mother. Where was she? But most his thoughts recurred to his father, and something akin to jealousy slowly awakened his heart to him. He had given him up, and had not latterly felt extremely filial; but he could not bear the idea of a division in the love of which he had ever been the idol and sole object. And such a man, too! so good! so generous! If it was jealousy that roused the young man’s heart to his father, the better part of love was also revived in it. He thought of old days: of his father’s forbearance, his own wilfulness. He looked on himself, and what he had done, with the eyes of such a man. He determined to do all he could to regain his favour. Mrs. Doria learnt from Adrian in the evening that her nephew intended waiting in town another week. “That will do,” smiled Mrs. Doria. “He will be more patient at the end of a week.” “Oh! does patience beget patience?” said Adrian. “I was not aware it was a propagating virtue. I surrender him to you. I shan’t be able to hold him in after one week more. I assure you, my dear aunt, he’s already”... “Thank you, no explanation,” Mrs. Doria begged. When Richard saw her next, he was informed that she had received a most satisfactory letter from Mrs. John Todhunter: quite a glowing account of John’s behaviour: but on Richard’s desiring to know the words Clare had written, Mrs. Doria objected to be explicit, and shot into worldly gossip. “Clare seldom glows,” said Richard. “No, I mean for her,” his aunt remarked. “Don’t look like your father, child.” “I should like to have seen the letter,” said Richard. Mrs. Doria did not propose to show it. CHAPTER XXXVI A Lady driving a pair of greys was noticed by Richard in his rides and walks. She passed him rather obviously and often. She was very handsome; a bold beauty, with shining black hair, red lips, and eyes not afraid of men. The hair was brushed from her temples, leaving one of those fine reckless outlines which the action of driving, and the pace, admirably set off. She took his fancy. He liked the air of petulant gallantry about her, and mused upon the picture, rare to him, of a glorious dashing woman. He thought, too, she looked at him. He was not at the time inclined to be vain, or he might have been sure she did. Once it struck him she nodded slightly. He asked Adrian one day in the park—who she was. “I don’t know her,” said Adrian. “Probably a superior priestess of Paphos.”